


What's come of us?

by Dragonberries



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M, Sad Crowley (Good Omens), Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Songfic, Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 07:45:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19848685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonberries/pseuds/Dragonberries
Summary: It's hard not to notice the pain Crowley goes through for Aziraphale, but he does it willingly. Every time. He gives more than is expected of him and then some.





	What's come of us?

_Who would’ve known, in the blink of a moment, the world turned upside down._

The flames were dull in the black tint of his sunglasses. Crowley grabbed at them and almost ripped them off, but he hesitated. He didn’t want to see what it really looked like. He didn’t want to see how bright the fire that cast him into shadows was.

His fingers scratched at his face, and he screamed until his throat was raw. Eyes darted back and forth, searching for something he couldn’t find.

Paper curled under his knees and glass dug into his skin. It was impossible to see past the windows with a blaze of gold tearing the home to shreds. Not necessarily Aziraphale’s home, but the one he had found in Crowley’s heart without knowing it. It burned and he relished in it.

Being a demon meant most fire did not affect him, certainly not hellfire, which is what he feared he was kneeling in this very moment. Water ran down the rafters, and Crowley wished it was holy. Wished desperately that a drop of it would fall and singe his skin the way the fire did his angel. A book sat neatly in front of him. All he could do for a few long moments was stare at it as the fire crowded closer and closer, taunting him with flickers of light and shadow that could have been a miracle. An angel that survived.

Reaching out a tentative hand, he stroked the cover and shuddered. A tear worked its way out from beneath the dark shades. With a gentle motion, he scooped the book into his arms and held it close, whispering to no one “Oh Lord, heal this nightmare”, before he stood and walked out the door like he hadn’t just fallen for a second time.

_Trying to cope, I’ve been looking for hope._

Hastur was trapped in the answering machine, and Ligur was a puddle on the floor. Crowley stood in the center of the room, leaning heavily to one side, eyes trained on the blob just inside the door. That holy water was meant to be his. Not this inconvenient set-back of Dumb and Dumber barging into his house and hoping to change his ways, pull him away from his angel and set him back on the wrong path.

Crowley did not put any holy water in his plant mister. He had relied too much on his ability to lie and be dramatic about it. There was a small shot glass sat on his desk with just enough in it to burn without killing anyone. He wasn’t sure why he kept it, what he thought he could do with it, or if there would even be a chance to use it if they couldn’t stop Armageddon, but he wanted it. Part of him had always wondered what it would be like to drown and disappear like Ligur, but he couldn’t do it when he knew it would hurt Aziraphale.

Aziraphale. He needed to find him and try one more time to convince him to leave. It was their only choice. Shaking his head, he grabbed the shot glass, opened the door, and hurried to his Bentley, parked faithfully outside.

_What’s come of us? It’s all too much._

His angel was dead. That was all he could think. His hands shook on the steering wheel, and he jerked to one side, narrowly avoiding a dog that ran into the road. Vision blurring, he pulled to the side of the road and buried his head in his hands. He stumbled out of the car and locked it with a snap of his fingers.

Inside, he ordered a bottle. It didn’t matter what of, it was alcohol, and it would help him forget. His hands felt numb as they gripped his shot glass unsteadily and poured a few drops into the drink before him.

All he wanted was something else to focus on. Grabbing his glass, he drank it all in one swallow and nearly cried out when the holy water infusion tore down his throat, scorching the insides and dragging at the inside of his mouth so it was raw and bleeding. He could feel blisters forming and poured himself another glass, ready to do it again.

Years of hearing ‘you go too fast for me, Crowley’ and he still hadn’t been fast enough to save the one he cared about. Everything he did was for his angel. He would give his life to save his, but hopefully he wouldn’t have one to give soon enough. What he had on hand may not have been enough, but he could always get more if that’s what it took.

Just as he reached for his alcohol/holy water again, a blurry image appeared and a voice called out to him.

_I feel so small, with my hands up to the sky I am reaching out tonight._

The consecrated ground stung. Crowley jumped from foot to foot, hoping to avoid one place for too long or burning one piece of skin beyond repair. Aziraphale watched with only a little amusement as he bounced back and forth.

There had been a time, ages ago, when Crowley would seek out places like this. Churches, big and empty and dangerous. They put him in his place. Reminded him of all he had lost and all he still stood to lose. He knelt on their floors, knees trembling and a searing pain coursing up his body. He dipped his fingers in their water and bowed his head before them. Colored light came through stained glass windows, tempting him with their brilliance and their forgiving softness. He begged for something. Acceptance, forgiveness, repent, anything. Mostly he begged for love.

Love was what he missed. It had filled him once. There was so much of it, all around him, growing and drifting from one thing to another, but always present and rich in hope. Now all he felt was fear.

He was a demon, what could he possibly know about love?

His heart ached with a phantom pain and his hand twitched, reaching out for the basin of holy water taunting him. Only a few inches away and he couldn’t touch it because it would worry his only friend. Not that Aziraphale would ever call him that.

Sacrifice everything for one person and the only price is no return to sender on the gift. Didn’t seem like such a bad deal to him.

_I give my all, but it’s just too much to hope. No I can’t do this alone._

Aziraphale wandered Crowley’s flat aimlessly, gliding fingers across the smooth surfaces and petting each brilliant green leaf hanging next to him. He barely acknowledged the statue displayed prominently in the hallway and moved on to the ‘throne room’ as Crowley sometimes liked to call it.

It was past midnight and Crowley had already gone to bed for the night, claiming tiredness and leaving Aziraphale to read or do whatever ‘angelic whatnot’ he got up to instead of sleeping.

In reality, he spent that time exploring everything he could. He had never seen his friends living space before and was thrilled to learn what he could from it. The most prominent thing he learned was that he truly hated Hell. It wasn’t hard to tell from simply talking to him, but after being there and coming back to this place he could see the way Crowley avoided resembling that place in any way he could.

Aziraphale understood that. His own bookshop was a stark contrast to the looming, empty, clean whiteness that combined to make Heaven. Crowley’s flat was clean and empty too, but it was definite and filled with life and personality that didn’t exist among the other angels or demons.

He was running out of places to explore. The only place he hadn’t been yet was the bedroom, and he wasn’t sure he was comfortable with intruding on Crowley’s sleep like that, but he really wanted to see it. Creeping forward, he opened the door a crack and peered in.

Surprisingly, Crowley was sitting in bed, wide awake, with a cup on his bedside table that he was staring at intently. The door creaked and Crowley glanced up. His eyes went wide, and, without thinking, snatched the glass from where it rested and chucked it against the wall to his right. With a crash, it smashed and pieces flew everywhere, water running down the sides and into cracks. He looked up at Aziraphale guiltily.

“Did you need something?” he tried to ask innocently.

“No, my dear, I was just wandering around and thought I’d check on you…” Aziraphale hesitated, but couldn’t stop his eyes from returning to the broken cup,”What was that?”

“Just a normal glass of water. I’ll clean it up, don’t worry about it,” Crowley said and stood, making his way into the kitchen for a towel. Aziraphale watched him go, eyebrows furrowing as he glanced once again at the sight Crowley left behind.

Slowly, the angel approached the mess and knelt, scanning the water that dribbled onto the floor. He dipped a finger in it and gasped.

Warmth rushed over his body from the spot where he touched it and he knew what it was. Crowley reentered with a washcloth in his hands. Aziraphale stopped him. “Please, let me do it. I don’t want you to burn yourself on it.” Crowley didn’t answer. His feet were frozen in place and his mouth worked opened and closed with nothing coming out. Aziraphale took the cloth from his loose grasp and wiped it up quickly and efficiently, using a small miracle to ensure there was nothing left Crowley could hurt himself on. “Now, why don’t you tell me just what you were doing in here with holy water?”

The demon sat down on the edge of his bed and pulled a pair of sunglasses out of nowhere.

“Why ssssshould you care?” he hissed, eyes downcast despite the darkened glass hiding them. Aziraphale followed the tremble of his arms and reached out a gentle hand, grasping one of Crowley’s own.

“Because you’re my best friend, what other reason could I need?” Aziraphale smiled and Crowley wasn’t sure what to do.

“Well, it might comfort you to know, at least, that it wouldn’t have been enough to kill myself with if that’s what you’re still worried about.” Aziraphale’s gaze softened.

“Oh, Crowley dear,” he knelt in front of the demon, keeping his hand clasped in his, “I never want you to be in any pain. Emotional or physical. Can’t you trust me?” Crowley shook his head and tried to pull away, but the angel help tight. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I thought…” Crowley trailed off, breath stuttering. His angel waited patiently, gazing at what he could see of the other’s eyes. “I thought it would help. I deserve every ounce of pain I can bring out of the only holy things I can have. It’s my penance.”

Aziraphale’s grip tightened. Pressure built in his head. A tear traced its way down his face, and with strong arms he pulled his friends into a hug. He ran his fingers through dark hair. “You have nothing to repent,” he murmured into the demon’s ear. “You are purer than every angel I’ve ever met, and you deserve more.” Crowley sobbed and buried his head in Aziraphale’s chest. It would be a long time before he ever went into another church or touched a single drop of holy water, but every time would be to protect the only good angel he knew.

_This is bigger than us._

**Author's Note:**

> Song used is Bigger Than Us by Josh Groban


End file.
